by Maureen Lee
‘You’re eighty-one-years-old, Ernie,’ Anna hooted. ‘At your age, I wouldn’t have thought you’d care if we were first or last. Poor Rachel will think no one’s coming. If you’re going to be such a coward, I’ll go by myself.’ Anna got to her feet. ‘Where’s that wine we bought?’
‘In the fridge. I’ll get it.’ Ernest loathed being the first to arrive at a party, but the barbecue was supposed to start at seven and it was now ten past. He returned with the wine and Anna ordered him to go back and fetch the plastic chairs from the garden. ‘Or else there won’t be enough.’
Anna was proved right, as always. They had hardly set foot outside when, as if this had been taken as a signal, other doors opened: Marie Jordan appeared with her boys, the older one carrying a guitar, and Tiffany came whooping out of the house followed by Sarah, the baby in her arms, and a cautious Jack who’d been persuaded to leave his blanket behind.
When she heard the music, Kathleen cursed for not having left earlier. She’d intended giving Rachel a hand to get things ready, but had forgotten all about the barbecue. She quickly got changed into jeans and a loose blouse and brushed her hair. Steve still hadn’t called, but it would be silly to stay just in case he did. After her talk with Victoria, she realized how selfish it was expecting him to cut off all contact with his family. What Victoria didn’t know and Kathleen didn’t explain, was that the selfishness was caused by fear that Steve might not come back.
Victoria was about to leave when there was a knock on the door and she found her friend, Carrie, outside. They hugged warmly. ‘I thought you were going to dinner with some chap,’ she cried.
‘I was, but I decided to come to the barbecue with you instead. The chap’s bound to turn out to be a louse, like all men.’ Carrie grinned. ‘Anyroad, I like you much better than him.’
‘Let’s go then, I can hear music. It must have started.’ Victoria linked her friend’s arm. ‘I’m so pleased you came, Carrie.’
Judy Moon was also conscious of the music and the chatter of voices on the lawn outside. She remembered the strange woman next door was holding a barbecue – Donna had propped up the invitation on the mantelpiece. It wouldn’t hurt to go, meet her new neighbours in one fell swoop as it were. She’d just stay an hour because she felt dead on her feet and had been looking forward to a long soak in the bath and an early night.
Her morning had been spent traipsing around the familiar shops in the area where she’d shopped her entire life. It would have been horrid to move away. She’d walked as far as the Moons’ old photography shop in Menlove Avenue – Mr Moon had always referred to it as ‘the studio’. The interior had been gutted and there was a notice outside to say it would shortly become an estate agency.
During the afternoon, she’d finished the unpacking and every one of Sam and Josh’s lovely ornaments now had its own special place and every picture hung on a wall.
I’ll have a shower instead of a bath, she told herself. Fortunately, she’d bought wine for tomorrow’s lunch with her brother and sisters and their respective partners. She’d take a bottle with her and could always get more in the morning.
After showering, she put on the maroon skirt and embroidered top she’d been given for her birthday, examined her reflection in the wardrobe mirror – Josh had painted roses in each corner – and thought she didn’t look too bad for a woman of sixty. She gave a sigh of happiness, it was a long time since life had been so good, and set forth.
‘Are we going to this bloody barbecue or not?’ Debbie snapped.
‘Mum’s come straight from work and she has to get washed and changed,’ Gareth explained for the second time. His mother worked afternoons in the pay booth of a garage in Birkenhead and didn’t finish until six. ‘Do you have to be so rude? She might hear.’
‘You usually do a bunk when my family come. You can’t get any ruder than that!’
‘I only do a bunk after they’ve been here so long I worry they’ve moved in for good. Mum’s only been here fifteen minutes.’ He felt a sudden flare of anger. ‘I warn you, Debbie, you’re not to be nasty to my mother. We don’t see her often. If you upset her, well …’ He left the threat unsaid, mainly because he couldn’t think of one.
‘Well, what?’ She looked at him tauntingly. ‘What exactly will you do if I upset your bloody mother?’
Gareth heard his mother go into the bathroom. He thought of how selflessly she’d worked to help him through university, despite her poor health. He said levelly, ‘My mum’s worth ten of you, Debbie. If you upset her, I’ll leave you. You can have the house and everything in it. I don’t think I want to live here any more.’ He’d never spoken a truer word. Baby or no baby, he’d had enough. He wasn’t prepared to live like this for the rest of his days, engaged in a continual war with his wife.
‘Gareth! You can’t mean that?’ Her face had turned ashen. She grabbed the wrought-iron balustrade for support.
‘I do.’ He went into the kitchen and splashed his face with cold water. Christ, it was hotter today than ever!
Debbie came to the door. ‘That was a terrible thing to say.’
‘Go away, Debbie. I’m not in the mood for another argument.’
‘You can’t just say stuff like that and get away with it.’ He didn’t answer and she pressed on. ‘You can’t, Gareth.’ Still he didn’t answer. She asked sharply, ‘Have you lost your voice or something?’
‘Have you gone deaf? Didn’t you hear me tell you to go away?’
His mother came downstairs, slightly breathless, in the blue brocade outfit she’d bought for his and Debbie’s wedding. ‘Sorry to have kept you both. I was as quick as I could.’
‘Mum,’ he said gently, ‘you don’t wear a hat to a barbecue.’
‘Don’t you, son? I’ve never been to one before.’ She removed the hat, swathed in blue net, and laid it carefully on the hall table.
‘Shall we go?’ Gareth ushered her outside and completely ignored his wife. She could come if she wanted. It was up to her.
It was a beautiful evening: still hot, but slightly cooler than the day. The sun was a brilliant orange as it dipped towards the houses on the far side of the square, casting shadows on to the grass. For a moment, Gareth felt as if he and the people at the barbecue were the only ones left on earth, excluded as they were from the world outside.
The music had been turned off and Patrick Jordan was seated on the grass playing the guitar surrounded by a small crowd of admirers: his brother, Danny; Marie their mum; the gorgeous Sarah and her baby; Tiffany and Jack; Rachel’s daughter Kirsty, to whom Gareth had never spoken; a strange, formally dressed young man who turned out to be Rachel’s son James; a pretty, pert young woman who reminded him a bit of Debbie; and, of course, Victoria, the woman he loved and would love for ever. His heart turned over as his eyes met hers and he saw how melancholy they were, reflecting the expression that was bound to be in his own.
‘There you are, Gareth!’ Rachel approached. ‘I thought you weren’t coming. Hello, Debbie.’ A subdued Debbie lagged behind.
‘This is my mother, Ellen.’ Was it his imagination, but did Rachel look different tonight? She’d had something done to her hair so it wasn’t so limp and lifeless, and she wore a smart green dress. He hadn’t thought it possible that Rachel could look so nice.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Ellen. There’s drink and refreshments on the table, so please help yourselves. But first come into the garden where my husband’s attending to the barbecue. His name’s Frank, by the way.’
Frank Williams wore a tall chef’s hat and his red face glistened with perspiration, not surprising, as he was poised over a rack containing half a dozen spitting burgers.
‘Hiya, neighbours.’ He gave them a leery look and a burger each and they returned to the front. Gareth hadn’t liked Frank the first time they met and now liked him even less.
Tiffany came running up and grabbed Gareth’s leg. ‘Why haven’t you brought Tabitha? He’ll be lonely on his own.
I’ve brought Oliver: he’s listening to the music.’
‘Gareth,’ Anna called, ‘if that’s your mother, bring her over here so I can tell her what a wonderful son she has.’
Gareth duly complied and sat his mother in the chair next to Anna. Ernie looked very morose, as if he heartily wished he were somewhere else. ‘Did I hear you say your name was Ellen?’ Anna gushed. ‘I’m Anna, and this handsome gentleman is my husband, Ernie. The lady next to him is Kathleen. She’s married to Sean Connery or someone remarkably similar who’s away at the moment. Next to Kathleen is Judy Moon – isn’t that a pretty name? Judy only moved in yesterday. Now,’ Anna paused for breath, ‘about Gareth, he kindly helped us install our computer …’
How come all these people knew Gareth? Debbie wondered. Virtually every person there had shouted a greeting of some sort: not just the adults, but the kids as well. When exactly had he managed to install the ancient couple’s computer? How come the little girl knew about Tabitha? How did he know the stunning blonde’s baby was called Alastair? And, come to that, how did he find out that this Victoria, whoever she was, was going to live in America and renting out her dingy little house? It was all very mysterious.
Debbie was sitting on the grass, munching her burger, and feeling a bit out of things. She was glad when the little girl came, sat beside her, and held out her teddy bear. ‘My name’s Tiffany and this is Oliver. You can shake his hand if you like.’
‘How do you do, Oliver?’ Debbie loved children and was looking forward to having one of her own. She shook the bear’s paw. It had a hankie wrapped around its head covering one of its eyes.
‘Mummy said you’re Gareth’s wife,’ Tiffany said gravely. ‘I thought Victoria was his wife.’
‘What on earth makes you think that?’
‘Well, she makes him meals and sleeps with him like wives do. Do you make his meals and sleep with him too?’ For a few seconds, the child’s brow furrowed then cleared. ‘I know, Gareth has two wives!’ she exclaimed.
‘No, he hasn’t. There’s just one: me.’ Powerful alarm bells were clanging at full volume inside Debbie’s head. ‘Is Victoria here?’ she asked in a voice that sounded strange, even to herself.
‘She’s over there, talking to Gareth. She’s awfully nice. She lets me and Danny play on her computer all the time. But she’s going to America tomorrow. I’m awfully sad.’ Tiffany sniffed. ‘Tomorrow, I think I might cry.’
Debbie wasn’t listening. She was watching Gareth in deep conversation with a girl who looked as if she belonged in a different era. Her black curly hair wasn’t cut in any sort of style and she hadn’t a scrap of make-up on, although her skin was flawless and the lashes on her large brown eyes were extremely long. She wore a plain blouse, a denim skirt, and flat sandals. Her head was almost touching Gareth’s, but they were staring at the grass rather than at each other. If it hadn’t been for Tiffany, Debbie would have thought the scene quite innocent, but now she could tell that whatever they were saying was private, important only to them, and of no concern to her, who happened to be Gareth’s wife.
I’ll kill him.
I’ll never speak to him again.
I’ll leave him.
The jumbled thoughts, the threats, the promises, raced like wildfire through Debbie’s hot brain. She threw the burger on to the grass and ran into the house.
‘Are you all right?’ Rachel shouted as she ran past.
‘I’m just going to fetch Tabitha for Tiffany.’
Tabitha was curled up in a ball on the white leather settee. Debbie knelt and laid her cheek against his warm, furry body. ‘He’s been having an affair, Tabs. What am I to do? It’s no use killing him, because I love him, and it’s no good saying I’ll never speak to him again because he’s already not speaking to me. Oh, and he threatened to leave me.’ She began to cry. She’d thought the threat an empty one, never for a minute thinking that there was someone else, another woman that he’d leave her for. It was her own fault. She’d driven him to it, being so horrible about his mother. She quite liked her mother-in-law, although she was a bit long-suffering and inclined to speak in a whiny sort of voice.
‘What’s happened to us?’ she asked Tabitha, but he merely curled himself into a tighter ball. They’d used to get on so well, but since moving to Hamilton Lodge, all Gareth did was go on and on about money, about tightening belts and reining things in a bit. But Debbie hadn’t wanted to listen. She was so proud of the house and wanted everything in it to be perfect. She didn’t know anyone who had a nicer house, not even the woman who owned the beauty parlour where she worked.
Mum’s place was a slum – Gareth was right – it was filthy. Growing up, she’d been ashamed to invite her mates inside. She’d used to dream about one day having a house of her own where all the furniture would match and it would be kept sparklingly clean although never, in the wildest of these dreams, had the house been half as big or half as smart as Hamilton Lodge – nor had it been detached! She loved inviting her family, knowing how proud they’d be for her – and how envious.
Perhaps Gareth was right about something else too. Perhaps she had been spending too much money – it had been like a drug, the money, and the supply had seemed endless. And now they were almost broke. Why else would he want them to move into Victoria’s? If it was anything like Victoria herself, the house would be dead old-fashioned.
‘But I’ll have to, Tabs. I’ll have to, or I’ll lose him.’ She wouldn’t mention what Tiffany had told her. It would be awfully hard, but she’d pretend she didn’t know. From now on, she’d be as nice as she could be. Her relationship with Gareth was hanging by a thread that a wrong word from her could very easily break and she loved him far too much to let him go.
‘You’re Ernie, I recognized you straight away.’ The woman gave a throaty laugh. ‘Anyroad, you’re the only one here old enough.’
Ernest looked up. He was bored out of his mind and longed to go home, but Anna would call him all the names under the sun if he did. The woman wore an elegant yellow linen frock and her smooth blonde hair was knotted in a bun at the back of her head. At first, he thought she looked about fifty, but noticed her heavily wrinkled neck and added on a good ten or fifteen years.
‘You don’t recognize me, do you?’ The woman giggled merrily.
Ernest felt obliged to confess he’d never seen her before in his life and she giggled again. ‘I’m Gaynor, your little sister. Our Charlie told me you’d been in touch. The old sourpuss, I had to threaten to cut off his wretched balls before he’d give me your address. I didn’t realize there’d be a function.’ She glanced around the crowded lawn. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
‘Gaynor!’ Ernest struggled to his feet. ‘Gaynor!’ he repeated, overcome with emotion.
Gaynor flung her arms around him. ‘My big brother, home at last.’ She patted his back. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Ernie.’ She gave another of her throaty laughs. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘I was only nineteen when I left, luv.’
‘You still haven’t changed.’
‘Excuse me.’ Anna coughed loudly, ‘Are you intent on starting an affair right under my nose, Ernie, or are you going to introduce me to this lovely lady and claim it’s all quite innocent?’
‘This is Gaynor, luv, Gaynor, me sister. She’s come to see us.’ Ernest could hardly speak, he felt so choked. ‘This is me wife, Anna.’
‘How do you do, Anna?’ The two women shook hands.
‘Pardon me for not getting up, Gaynor, but I’ve had two glasses of wine and feel quite tipsy. I’m not supposed to drink, you see, so I’m not used to it.’
‘Take no notice,’ Ernest growled. ‘She drinks all the time. Can I get you a drink, luv? There’s white and red wine and beer. Come on over, there’s food there an’ all and you can take your pick. Charlie said you didn’t want to see me,’ he remarked when they reached the table and he handed his sister a paper plate.
‘Our Charlie’
s a prick,’ Gaynor said bluntly, picking up two sausage rolls. ‘His wife, Evelyn, has led him a miserable life, and their Ronnie’s done time for burglary. Tessa, his daughter, is a nice girl, but she’s in throes of getting divorced for the second time. Poor Charlie, eh?’ Gaynor shrugged. ‘He’s more to be pitied than loathed. He’s jealous of me – I’ve had a great life, Ernie, two wonderful husbands and a marvellous son – and now he’s jealous of you. He told me he gave you a good ticking off.’ She looked at him keenly. ‘I hope he didn’t upset you.’
‘A bit,’ Ernest acknowledged, although it had been rather more than that. ‘It was about Mam, mainly. He said she died of a broken heart and it was me that broke it.’
‘What nonsense!’ Gaynor gave her attractive laugh. ‘Mam died in her sleep at eighty. Oh, she worried about you at first, wondered where you were, why you hadn’t come home, but she got over it in time. Why didn’t you come home, Ernie?’ she asked curiously.
‘I was too taken up with Anna,’ he confessed. ‘We met during the war and I couldn’t wait to get back to Cairo where she lived. Bootle, me family, didn’t seem important any more. I know I should’ve written, luv, and I can’t really explain why not.’
‘Never mind, Ernie, it’s all in the past. As Mam used to say, “It’s no good crying over spilt milk.” Look, d’you think we should get back to Anna? She’ll be feeling lonely on her own.’
‘Anna will never feel lonely while there’s another human being left on the planet. No, I want to introduce you to everyone, show me little sister off to the neighbours. See that lady over there,’ he pointed to Rachel, ‘she’s the one who organized the barbecue. ‘Rachel,’ he called. ‘I’d like you to meet me sister, Gaynor. This is the first time we’ve seen each other in sixty years …’
The sun had sunk lower and the grass looked greener where the shadows had spread. No one noticed the black cloud that was creeping into the sky from behind Victoria’s house. The wine had almost gone, the food eaten. The charcoal in the barbecue was cold now, and Frank Williams, his labour no longer required, was sprawled on the grass beside Sarah Rees-James, carrying on a trite conversation while he stared at her breasts and drank his tenth can of beer – not that he’d counted.